


How much you mean to me

by tea_for_lupin



Category: Midsomer Murders - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Multi, References to Depression, do not copy to any other site, men talk about their feelings like grown ups omg!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-04-12 04:00:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19124149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tea_for_lupin/pseuds/tea_for_lupin
Summary: Ben's Gran passes away and he has to deal with the grief of it. John and Sarah want to help, if Ben will let them.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For the purposes of this fic, let's assume that Ben did _not_ move to Brighton before Betty was born, but stayed in his rightful place in Midsomer. Okay? Okay.

Ben moved back in with his Gran when she got frail— _really_ frail, the kind where she needed help carrying a bowl of porridge, or feeding the cat. 

‘She brought me up,’ he explained to John and Sarah, one morning when he swung by to collect the DCI for their latest investigation. ‘It’s the least I can do.’ 

‘You’re a good man, Ben,’ Sarah answered, and the smile she gave him carried him through a long chill autumn day. 

The funeral, when it came a few inevitable months later, was well attended: a solid contingent of Midsomer police, of course, present out of respect for Ben as well as for Millie Jones herself. Village fixture that she was; the WI were there in droves, and some of their family members too. More faces than Ben could put names to, even if he hadn’t been awake for 36 hours with grief and work.

John and Sarah were beside him through it all, steadying him.

Ben refused to take compassionate leave until the inquiry into the death of a corrupt local politician was concluded; John knew him well enough, now, not to insist, and Ben was grateful for that. And he wouldn’t normally be disappointed when an investigation didn’t take long to solve, but a paper trail proved more telling than anyone expected, so the case was closed and filed only a few days after his Gran was buried. 

Ben found himself facing down the three weeks off he’d promised John he would take with a sense of dread.

 _It’ll let me get her cottage in order, anyway,_ he told himself. _Catch up on some sleep._

And Ben slept a great deal for the first few days. Coffee, toast, and back to bed. His phone ran out of battery and he didn’t plug it in. Coffee. Toast. 

By the fourth day, when he woke around noon with the sunlight piling up behind the curtains like honey waiting to spill, he knew he had to begin to haul himself back. To a schedule, or at least some semblance of functioning. He put his phone on to charge while he showered, water hot almost to burning then turned to pure cold at the end, so that he came out with his skin red and breath stuttering from the shock. Jeans; a t-shirt; he could manage that. Dealing with the days’-worth of beard felt too much of a weight to handle. But there was orange juice in the fridge, still drinkable. He drank it, and the doorbell rang.

‘Sarah,’ Ben said, blinking at the sight of both her and Betty on his Gran’s doorstep—his doorstep. ‘Betty. I—hi. Um, come in.’

‘I did text you about coming over,’ Sarah said, hefting Betty on one hip and a large carry bag in her other hand, ‘but I didn’t get a reply, and John hasn’t been able to contact you either—he did leave some messages, did you get them?—so, well. We thought we’d pop over, didn’t we? Don’t worry,’ she added with an understanding smile, noticing the look of panic that Ben couldn’t disguise, ‘we’re not expecting tea and a chat, or anything like that. Just wanted to drop these off, is all.’

Sarah set the carry bag down on the kitchen table, didn’t mention the scattered mugs and dirty plates. Betty looked around with the owlish interest only an eighteen-month-old could display. ‘Right. John cooked up a storm for you. So, there’s that beef madras curry you like, and some rice—this is pumpkin soup—and a chicken thing to go with pasta. I’m not sure if he’s made it for you before? It’s delicious, anyway.’ She balanced a packet of HobNobs on top of one of the stacks of takeaway-sized containers. ‘ _And_ —some biscuits.’ 

For a long minute Ben couldn’t speak, could barely breathe; tears came treacherously close to falling. He pressed a hand to his eyes. Sarah laid one of her own on his arm. 

‘I really don’t want to intrude, Ben,’ she said gently, ‘but is there anything else I can do while I’m here?’

Ben shook his head, cleared his throat. ‘No, but—thanks. This--’ he gestured, helplessly ‘—this means a lot.’

Sarah switched Betty to her left side, took the empty bag. ‘Well, if you think of anything.’ She kissed Ben on the cheek. ‘We’re only a phone call away. Just—reach out any time. Okay?’

‘Okay, yeah. Sure.’ Ben knew he was lying and hoped that Sarah didn’t. ‘I will. And—tell John I said thanks.’

Leave came and went; Ben returned to work. He was a professional who loved his job, under normal circumstances; went through the motions, now, because of it. Coffee. Toast. A shower and into work on time: barely. Stay there as long as possible. An occasional meal with mates down the pub, or at John and Sarah’s place. The garden that his Gran had loved so much—that Ben had helped her with, even though gardening wasn’t his thing, but he had done it, because he loved her—went untended. Late summer roses hung their dry heads, and the foxgloves shrivelled on the stem, and the love-in-a-mist turned brown and brittle from lack of water. Ben couldn’t bring himself to look at them; eventually, couldn’t even see them. His sleep was thick with dreams he couldn’t remember. 


	2. Chapter 2

As John stepped forward, Ben heard rather than saw the arrow twang from a hidden longbow; a dozen thoughts flashed through his head as he realised— _shit it’s a trap_ —and he hurled himself forward.

‘Sir, _get down!_ ’ 

The arrow—poison-tipped like the others, probably, because this was Midsomer after all, why wouldn’t it be—barely missed him as he tackled John to the ground. The fletching brushed his face, striking the tree just behind him with a _thunk_ , the sound dull in the thick-leaved woods.

A moment’s stunned silence.

When he spoke, John’s voice jerked out rough. ‘Jones, _what in God’s name were you thinking?_ ’ 

Ben pushed himself up to sitting, using one of the oak’s gnarled roots as a support. Incredulously he looked from John to the arrow, sunk deep in the tree’s trunk, and back again, realising just how close the shave had been. Both his legs and his guts turned to water. ‘I,’ he managed, shakily. ‘I was—’ 

‘Your job does not,’ John said, his breath coming short, his expression as close to fury as Ben had ever seen it, ‘I repeat _not_ , involve you _needlessly putting yourself in danger_ like that, Jones!’

‘Well, pardon me for _saving your life,_ sir!’ In the wash of relief and adrenalin that followed the ambush, Ben’s temper frayed to its ends. ‘And—god, you know what we’ve been up against in this case; I don’t think my actions were exactly ‘needless’! Especially given that you have, oh I don’t know, _a family_ —that needs you, and—’ and now the words were spilling out; he couldn’t stop them, even if he tried ‘—and I have no one, all right, who would give a _shit_ if I died.’

John’s face stilled as he slowly picked himself up, pulled himself back: into his usual tight-controlled demeanour. But Ben could read the thoughts behind his eyes, and he looked away, so as not to see the pieces falling into place. Into understanding.

‘Jones—’ John said. His voice was quiet, but there was a force in the words that made Ben look back despite himself. ‘Ben. I didn’t realise that you were feeling this bad, since your Gran passed. I’m sorry.’

 _Ben._ He could count on one hand the number of times John had called him that, recall each of them clear as daylight. Great; another one for the list. He willed himself to standing. ‘There’s no need to apologise.’

‘There is; I should have noticed, should have paid more attention. Should have shown you—’ John paused. ‘I should have shown you that it’s not true.’ 

With a grimace Ben glanced away again. ‘Thanks,’ he said, harshly, sarcastically, ‘but I don’t need your pity. Sir.’

‘It’s not pity, Jones,’ John retorted, and the next thing Ben knew he had been pushed hard, almost slammed, back against the tree, his head pulled down to be met with a kiss nearly savage in its hungry intensity. Half-dazed and wholly desperate, Ben found himself kissing back. When they drew apart, they were both panting. 

‘You have no idea, Ben,’ John said, his voice almost a growl, ‘how much you mean to me.’

Lost for words, Ben could only stare. ‘…I’m—what?’

In lieu of speech John responded by pulling him into another deep kiss; Ben gave himself up to it, scarcely believing. Nights on nights he’d thought about this, brought himself off to shameful climax with thoughts of this. Not just with John. With Sarah; with both of them. 

In a sudden surge of self-loathing fury Ben shoved John away. ‘What the hell are you doing?’ 

A stricken look flashed across John’s face, and Ben wanted to vomit from the hurt of it; but it was too late now.

John drew a deep breath; his eyes set grim. ‘I’m profoundly sorry, Jones. I was under the impression—well. That doesn’t matter.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I’ll take leave immediately we get back to Causton, so you can report the assault through the proper channels without having to worry about working with me in the meantime.’ 

And now this was spinning out of Ben’s control faster and faster. ‘I’m not—I’m not going to report anything, sir.’

John passed a hand over his face. ‘You’d be perfectly within your rights to do so, Jones, and I certainly won’t stand in the way of it. I was very much in the wrong.’

‘I don’t feel any need to report it.’ Jones shoved his hands into his pockets to stop them trembling, felt for something to ground himself into the present. Cloth, lint. He gripped the car keys so hard they cut into his palm. ‘I’m not.’ He paused, seeking the right word. ‘Angry. It’s, well. A lot more complicated than that.’ Another pause, and this time Ben looked up to meet John’s gaze. ‘Sir.’

Something seemed to unknot itself in his superior’s face. ‘All right, then, if you’re sure.’ Ben nodded, unable to trust his voice to further speech. A heartbeat’s worth of painful silence hung between them. 

Until: ‘I suppose we’d better return to the case, then. See where this—’ John gestured to the arrow still embedded in the tree’s trunk ‘—thing came from.’

‘Yeah.’ Ben exhaled shakily. ‘I’ll call SOCO, shall I?’

‘Please.’ 

Ben dialled as John moved cautiously in the direction from which the arrow seemed to have flown, searching: green canopy above, grey-brown mess of fallen leaves beneath their feet. Ben watched his retreating form with a kind of numbness.

‘DS Ben Jones,’ he said, when the dispatcher picked up. ‘We need a SOCO team in the woods just outside Midsomer Worthy. Yeah, right away.’

       *****                                                                                             

Some nights, Ben let himself imagine:

_John slamming him up against the tree, and this time Ben does not push him away. Instead he tangles his hands in John’s hair, kissing back urgently, shivering with want as John grinds against him, as John pulls back just enough to force Ben to his knees. He knows Ben likes it rough, and fucks his mouth: til Ben is dizzy with arousal, his own cock aching for relief—_

and / or

_Sarah straddling his face, her clit swollen and cunt dripping as he drives his tongue against her, into her, sucks and laps. She rides his mouth and rides it, gasping as orgasm breaks through her like a wave. Ben grips her arse to pull her closer. Drinks her in—_

and / or

_Ben, filled: John at the front and Sarah pegging him behind. A fist tugs forcefully at Ben’s hair; he’s not sure whose it is, and at this point he doesn’t care. Sarah slides her hand around to touch his cock, at last, at last; Ben’s eager groan as she strokes it is muffled by John’s cock deep in his mouth—_

and / and

Ben’s cock was in his own hand, desperate and leaking. _You have no idea, Ben, how much you mean to me._ He came with a shudder, biting down brutally into the crook of his arm to keep himself quiet, even though there was no one to hear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, I know how self-indulgent this is, but on balance it's not really _that_ much more extra than any given episode of Midsomer, really


	3. Chapter 3

Ben collapsed gratefully onto the wooden bench at the table outside the pub. At just after 11am the place was still mercifully deserted, even by elderly locals with no particular demands on their time, and Ben took the opportunity to shrug off his mud-splattered jacket and loosen his tie. His socks squelched gloomily in his shoes. One day, maybe— _maybe_ one day, he would be the DCI and have his own sergeant to chase suspects on tractors across muddy fields. He contemplated this remote prospect wistfully. At least this time the suspect had ended up even dirtier and soggier than Ben had.

John slid into the seat across from Ben and set down a pint of something foamy and dark in front of him. ‘Go on, Jones. I’d say you’ve earned it.’

‘Thank you sir,’ Ben said with feeling, and applied himself to the beer. It was fan-bloody-tastic, and not just because he was parched after another round of Midsomer cross country. He watched John over the rim of the glass: the satisfied quirk of his mouth as uniform drove past with Pete Alderman’s grimy face glaring at them from the back of the car; the way John’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he downed his orange juice in a couple of thirsty gulps. God, how Ben wanted—but—

‘If you don’t mind, sir?’ Ben said, before his courage could desert him. He paused, to try to remember how to breathe. Wetting dry lips, he made himself meet John’s suddenly guarded gaze. ‘I think we need to have a talk. Don’t you?’

‘…Ah.’ John took a moment to set his glass down, very precisely, on a beer mat; he looked as if he was bracing himself for a blow. ‘Yes. You’re right. Where would you like to begin?’

Ben could barely hear himself think over the hammering of his heart. So many ways this scenario could be played out, had been played out in his thoughts; and there was no possibility of telling how it would actually go. Desperately, he wished he could rewind the most recent minutes of his life, but, well. It was definitely, definitely too late now. He cleared his throat. There was, at least, one question he knew he needed to ask first.

‘Does Sarah know?’

‘Know how I feel about you?’ A very faint smile touched the corners of John’s mouth. ‘Oh, yes. We’ve always had a very open relationship. And besides, in your case—she feels the same way.’

Ben blinked. ‘She what?’

‘I’m not the only one to recognise that you’re a very handsome man, Jones. And—’ again the faint smile ‘—well, the more we both got to know you, the more there was to like. I fell for you first, but Sarah wasn’t far behind.’

This was so thoroughly beyond anything that Ben had ever imagined hearing that he could scarcely begin to frame an answer. After a silence that felt like it stretched on for hours he said, slowly, ‘I had no idea.’

‘Well, why should you? Polyamory isn’t a well-accepted practice, so we tend not to be open about it, especially with colleagues.’ John shrugged ruefully. ‘Even those we fancy.’

Ben took a much-needed swig of beer, and tried to make sense of what he had just heard. ‘So you’re saying you wouldn’t have—’

‘Done anything about it? Probably not. Why take the chance of spoiling our friendship and working relationship? Except—’

Ben’s voice cracked a little as he finished John’s sentence. ‘Except for what happened in Midsomer Worthy woods.’

‘I knew before that how much I… cared… about you.’ John’s voice was low, but he met Ben’s eyes resolutely. ‘The case with Grady Felton, the idea that you were in danger, well, that made it clear enough. When you nearly got yourself killed in the woods, that was…’ He trailed off. 

Ben shifted his gaze to a tree halfway across the green. ‘Yeah, about that… I’ve, um. Been seeing someone. A therapist. For the last couple of months.’

Out of the corner of his eye he saw John wince slightly. ‘That’s very sensible of you, Jones,’ he said, a little unsteadily. ‘As I said at the time, I will not stand in your way if you wish to report the assault, and—’

For a moment Ben stared, but then realisation dawned. ‘Ohhh, you thought I meant—no, what I meant was, I’ve been seeing a therapist because I’ve been _depressed_ , sir, since my gran died. Really depressed without realising it, until that day in the woods. And it’s helping. I still have bad days, but it’s helping a lot.’

A look of relief washed over John’s face. ‘I’m very glad to hear that.’ 

‘Yeah. Me too. But, the thing is—the thing that I really wanted to say is.’ _Come_ on, _you hopeless sod,_ Ben cursed himself inwardly; he drained the rest of his pint, conscious of John watching him. _It’s now or never, just_ say _it—_ 'If you and Sarah are still… interested… I’m interested too.’

John drew in a breath, hummed it out. ‘You are?’ 

‘You have no idea, sir.’ Ben shook his head, wry, felt his face redden. ‘In the woods—well, it wasn’t how or where I’d imagined it—’

‘But you had imagined it.’ 

The words came out almost in a growl, and god, the sound went straight to Ben’s cock. ‘More times than I’d care to admit.’ He glanced around at a noisy group of half a dozen people who had just seated themselves at a nearby table. ‘Especially not here.’

‘Mmm, yes. Fair enough.’ John rolled his shoulders, stretched, stood. ‘It’s about time we headed back to the station. Perhaps you can fill me in on the details on the way.’ 

Gathering up his jacket, Ben grimaced as his wet footwear reminded him of its existence. ‘If we can stop by my place to pick up some dry socks, I’ll tell you everything. If you like,’ he added more softly, hardly able to believe his own daring, hardly daring to look towards John to see his reaction, ‘I could even show you.’

‘I would like that,' John said, and his hand tightened convulsively on the gear stick as he started the car. 'Yes, Ben, I'd like that very much.’

             *****                                                                                       

In the end they did, barely, make it in the door of Ben’s house before they fell on and into each other, mouths and hands everywhere, hot and hard and messy and so, so good.


	4. Chapter 4

When Ben arrived that Saturday evening, Sarah answered the bell with the smile that had always sent his heart turning backflips and butterflies. She pulled him into the house and kissed him, a real kiss rather than the brush of lips against cheek he was used to. It was delicate, then deep, then desperate; everything Ben could wish for. The expression of hungry approval on John’s face as he watched the two of them break apart nearly brought Ben undone.

Sarah sighed happily. ‘I’ve been looking forward to this.’ 

Ben’s voice came out rougher than he meant it to. ‘Yeah, so have I.’

‘Also, John was right,’ Sarah added, giving them both a mischievous smile. ‘You’re a great kisser.’

‘Uh, thanks? I mean, so is he. Ah, but I guess you would know that.’ Ben could have smacked himself in the head for such a _stupid_ response, but his mouth and his brain had apparently disconnected; he couldn’t seem to stop talking. ‘And, so are you, a good kisser. I mean, great kisser. God, look—’ he held up the bottle of white wine he’d brought along; Sarah was trying, unsuccessfully, not to laugh ‘—I _promise_ I haven’t already been into this, no matter what I sound like.’

‘We’d better get something into you then,’ John said, with more than a hint of a smirk. ‘Starting with dinner, I suppose. How about you open that bottle, and I’ll serve up.’

Dinner was delicious, as John’s cooking always was. Now he was upstairs settling Betty back to sleep, and now Sarah’s mouth tasted warm with wine; Ben hummed in a deep amazed satisfaction as she stroked a hand up his neck, threaded her fingers into his hair. Her other hand was busy between them: unbuttoning his shirt, insistent at the fly of his pants, rubbing over Ben’s hardening cock with a pressure that was gloriously far from enough. 

When John came back downstairs, he wrapped his arms around them both, coaxing Sarah’s head around to kiss her greedily, then mouthing his way down Ben’s neck to his now-bare chest. ‘I don’t know about you two,’ he said, in between doing things with his lips and tongue and teeth that made Ben gasp, ‘but I think we’d be better off in the bed. Betty’s sound asleep.’

By the time they got themselves upstairs and undressed Ben couldn’t tell whether his heart was pounding more from arousal or from nerves. But John pulled him down onto the bed between himself and Sarah; then for a long time there was no need to feel anything other than _wanted_ , and later, _satisfied_.

*****

Things Ben had never known would crack his heart open in the most welcome ways, every time: the soft weight of Sarah’s sleeping head on his chest. John brushing her dark hair back from her face, pulling the covers up and over, kissing Ben on the forehead. And when she saw him on the mornings-after the nights he stayed over, Betty smiling.


	5. Epilogue

Ben had left it too late to prune the roses, but he fed them, once—maybe twice—occasionally watered them, and that next summer they flowered anyway. He cut a great bunch of them—sun-soaked in the early heat, open and red and white and gold. He gave them to Sarah, as John threw on his jacket and tickled Betty goodbye. 

‘Oh Ben,’ Sarah said, burying her nose in the scented petals, ‘are these—?’

‘Yeah,’ Ben said, and there was a prickle of grief at the back of his throat. Sarah squeezed his hand, and he was suddenly so grateful—so heart-fully, overwhelmingly grateful—for her, and for John, and for what they all had together that for a moment he could hardly breathe.

‘They’re beautiful,’ John said; one of those rare, unrestrained smiles broke over his face as he looked up from the roses to meet Ben’s eyes. ‘And your Gran would be proud.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~~~ FIN ~~~~
> 
> Thanks for reading and being patient with the slow updates <3


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